


Diversion

by redcandle17



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 18:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8025007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcandle17/pseuds/redcandle17
Summary: Princess Arianne Martell finds a way to keep herself entertained while imprisoned.





	Diversion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isilloth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isilloth/gifts).



Arianne does not bother trying to sway the loyalties of the servants after Cedra. It was said that the walls of the Red Keep had ears, and it would seem that so too did the walls of her tower cell. She is lying abed listlessly when the serving girl approaches her, hairbrush in hand. 

She waits before Arianne, the brush raised in a mute question. 

Arianne has not bothered to rise since she awoke this morning. There is no reason to. She wants to turn her back to the girl. What does her hair matter when she is confined here, possibly for the rest of her days, or perhaps only until it is time to meet the headman’s axe. Let her hair mat, let her body grow rank with sweat and soil, let her grow old and dry and withered. 

But the girl is of the stony Dornishmen, with skin pale enough for Arianne to see her cheeks redden beneath her gaze. _You like me, do you?_

She is new to Sunspear, not anybody Arianne has seen often enough to recognize. Perhaps they think sending strangers is safer and surer for them. _Once again my father underestimates me. I may be of no significance to him, but others know my worth._

Arianne sits up and permits the girl to brush her hair. She smiles to herself, but she doesn’t try to engage the girl in conversation. Not yet. _Carefully this time,_ she cautions herself. 

She closes her eyes and savors the sensation of having her hair brushed. Each stroke feels like a caress. Arianne is suddenly as starved for touch as she is for words. A moan rises within her and she allows it to escape her lips. 

It seems to fluster her pale little serving girl, for the hairbrush goes tumbling out of her hand and clatters to the floor. She murmurs an apology as she picks the brush up and approaches Arianne again.

Arianne waves her away in a casual dismissal. “Enough.”

She stretches, knowing the movement cannot help but draw eyes to her buxom breasts, and, sure enough, the girl stares. Arianne pointedly ignores her until she leaves. 

Morra tends to her the next day, but the day after that, the pale girl brings her morning meal of orange slices and sweetened goat’s milk. Arianne studies her critically. 

She is thin and of middling height, with features utterly plain and unremarkable. Not the sort of person Arianne would normally contemplate inviting to her bed. But there is something appealing about the way she reacts to Arianne. _I am her princess, and beautiful. Of course she desires me._

Arianne entertains herself teasing the poor girl for nearly a fortnight. Prince Doran has not yet summoned her nor sent her word of her sentence. She has slept so many hours away, she cannot sleep anymore. And she has already read all but the most boring of the borings books stocked in her prison. Toying with a serving girl might be less than noble, but it was the only amusement available to her. 

She pulls the shift she’d only just donned over her head and tosses it aside. “Not that one, it feels like sackcloth on my skin,” she lies. 

The girl’s cheeks are lit with the blush she wears whenever faced with an intimate view of Arianne’s body. She offers another garment. 

“I think not,” Arianne replies. She flashes her a wicked smile and then allows herself to fall backward onto the bed. “I think perhaps I shall not bother to dress today.”

Her little serving girl gapes at her. 

“After all, I am not going anywhere and I am not receiving any visitors.”

Arianne half expects her to flee and report this latest protest of the princess’s. But she only stands there, looking uncertain. 

Arianne extends her arms to her. “Come, sweet one. You may not disobey your master by speaking with me, but you can slake my loneliness without words.”

The girl takes a few steps closer, but she still seems hesitant.

“Your princess needs you.”

No words are exchanged, only moans and sighs. Arianne succeeds in making her scream, but even in that the girl is wordless, and Arianne banishes from thought the way the white knight would call her his princess when…

Arianne makes her little servant girl scream again and again, the sounds surely heard by the guards at her door and in the rooms below and above. 

She is not surprised when the pale serving girl does not return and when the only servants sent to attend her thereafter are old as her father and sour as a northern septa.


End file.
